


A Cicatrized Life

by sunnyforceside



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyforceside/pseuds/sunnyforceside
Summary: As the perplexing tale of a mandalorian, molded by tragedy and a life of hardships, and a young alien of unknown origins, with special abilities beyond many people's wildest dreams, continues on - both will find themselves, soon, with a third at their sides. With the capture of Moff Gideon aboard his own ship, the Mandalorian reunited with his close companion, and their hodge-podge crew along for the ride, all seems well that ends well, until the return of the menacing Dark Troopers. One was more than a battle scarred, Din, could handle, but fifteen, twenty? Trapped and with no possible means of escaping, these rebel soldiers may very well be facing their last stand, until a light freighter docks.aka did The Mandalorian season 2 finale make you cry and depressed, so now you have to cope somehow? Me too.*Major deviation from canon content, including OC character
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Voyager

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a fanfiction in 10 plus years?? So yeah, I don't really know how well this is going to turn out, which is a great way to endear people to my writings. I've been writing, personally, for a long time, and my minor is in English, so I think I kinda know what I'm doing? Anyways, this is only a first chapter, and like I said, I feel a little rusty, so feel free to leave some constructive criticism! I have a rough idea about where to take this story, but I'm going to flesh it out as I go along. Warnings for violence are precautionary (because I don't think this is too violent but just in case!) and for later chapters. I'll update tags as I go (I think I can do that here?). Anyways, thanks for reading!
> 
> ALSO a fair warning now, that if you haven't watched all two season of The Mandalorian, then major spoilers sprinkled ahead!

The punching of metal on metal rang horribly through the bay area - the reverberations exaggerating the already immense power that only two of the Dark Troopers held within their design. The bashing of tightly wound up springs and glistening new, black steel was even too powerful for the blast doors’ withholdings. The doors were bowing, bending, and scuffing to these blows, but the slick, glossy fists remained still close to pure. Walls and floor almost vibrate at the machines’ easy efforts, and no one felt this more than Grogu, who was slumped ideally on the floor - lacking much capability here.

He was full of untapped potential, but it al lacked direction and ability in that compact body, and he knew it. The words of Gideon echoed like a nightmare one has just woken up from, still so fresh and biting in the mind, but so far gone from the present matters at hand – he and the bad man could live; everyone else would not be so lucky. The horror made him tense up, mouth down turned, and the small green creature couldn’t do much else, besides look up to his beskar-laden savior.

The Mandalorian was tight, himself, with readiness, as they all were, helmet focused to the ever present inflating doors before them. Typically, in all the glory of a good fighter as Din was, his attention was sharp and focused, but behind the mask, the man was fretting what was about to occur. He had already battled one of these reinforced droids on his own, and had to muster every ounce of muscle and fight he possessed, just to strike multiple finishing ends to the damn piece of metal. Not one to show weakness, outwardly, he was as dense as his own armor, but on the inside, his nerves were shot and getting the best of him. His dark hair, slightly damp with sweat from exertion, had started to matte some on his ever-creasing forehead. From his peripheral, orbs peaked a couple times, out of healthy precaution, down to the floor on his left hand side – the child – _Grogu_. That little tan sack of light green, pure goodness was what they had all come here for, and the thought that this could be it sped through Din’s mind like a ship entering hyperspace.

Brown eyes focused back to the door, right as another monotone and almost rhythmic thud etched its way into the hull’s otherwise quiet atmosphere. _If they all perished, it was over. There would be nothing else anyone could do for him._ And with that, a stifling panic was sent through the Mandalorian’s chest; throat catching with dread. This could all be over very, very soon – but not without a fight.

Another _BASH_ on the door, and the grey metal creaked some more beneath the force of it all. Din did not flinch. It would have been a terrible sign of weakness if he had, something that he was taught away from, starting at a young age, but behind the shield of his usual garb, his muscles jerked with every new _BANG_ and cracking of the doors. The noises brought flashes of gloom and unfinished images to his imagination, from a dark and dreary place: himself, almost gone, and spread on the floor. His comrades, friends, these brave women all willing to fight along side him – motionless and scattered across the hull’s sleek deck as well. Then, like a ghost shifting from the shadows - the Moff – would scoop Grogu up with his black-gloved hands. So tender he would be, but his eyes would shift like a snake at the defeated Mandalorian, and lips with curl into a smirk, and everything would fade to nothingness.

“ _Stop_ ,” Din thought sharply to himself, snapping back as another crease was added to the blast doors. Who knew such metal could crease and fold like that?

Suddenly, a scream of alarms rang out, heard from a nearby control panel. Random buttons flashed in unison to alert… a ship. A small freighter – nothing bigger than what the _Razor Crest_ once was in its own glory. A ship so black, it almost camouflaged itself amongst the darkness of space, if not for the bright white stars that peppered the background to give it away. The exterior’s black paint job, nothing new but still in decent condition for a ship of its own kind, glided across the large open viewing windows before everyone – heads turned in now, to the incoming, lone voyager.

“It’s a freighter,” Bo-Katan voiced up through her helmet, her tone less than enthused. She marched over to the control panels to have a better look for herself.

Cara, blaster still drawn firmly across her chest, replied back in a speach that dripped in sarcasm: “ _Great_ … we must be saved then.” No one here was very much hopeful for an outcome that would be anything but a massacre.

Bo-Katan reached for the communicator on the panel, calling out for whomever was onboard to solve the mystery as to who they were. No one had called for back up, not even Gideon had had the time, and this certainty wasn’t Fett’s unique ship.

With no response to be had, the unknown freighter glided into a dock and landed. The black and white screens among the surrounding panels gave, not only the female Mandalorian, but Din as well, a close look as to the new arrival.

After a moment, multiple sets of eyes waited ever so patiently for something to happen, until the back loading door of the freight gently began to swing up and open, and a small ramp followed suit. Without waiting for either mechanism to properly finish their jobs, a tall and clocked figure emerged, dropped from the platform, and swiftly made their way off screen, inadvertently.

“We’ve got _more_ company,” Bo-Katan calmly fretted through her modulator.

Grogu, still slumped on the floor, picked his head up steadily and deliberately from his chest. Someone called out to him through the force… coming for him, finally; a voice only he could hear. Black eyes widen at the process of this realization.

Another bolt of lighting knocked across the door’s surface, cutting a finale blow, which echoed in waves through the hall, and finally ceasing. Nothing could be heard now, expect for a numbing echo to the ears.

Simultaneously, as if both were to have been reading each other’s minds in this moment, both Mandalorians plastered their gaze to their respective security monitors across the room. Though their shaded eyes could never give it away, expressions widen and eyes did not dare to blink as new, crisp images came onscreen.

The security screens flashed to new motions within the ship’s halls, popping into a small moment of time, as the cloaked figure sauntered determinedly towards a couple of Dark Troopers. Their metal forms turned to face the falling footsteps coming towards them, electronic arms outreaching to jump into quick action – yet, not so quickly enough. Without much hesitation, a blade of light – structured and brilliant in both form and noise – beamed to life from within the anonymous being’s flowing robes. They moved straight into action, blowing brisk and devastating cuts to both troopers robotic heads, sending them crashing to the ground with a minute thud from the monitor’s audio.

This new… “ _Jedi_ ,” the blue-clad Mandalorian spoke out like a plea, voice glistening in awe.

“ _A… Jedi_ ,” Din thought solemnly to himself. Their trip to the rocks really had worked after all. “He did it,” his train of thinking pushed on, as he looked down at Grogu.

The Jedi, newly titled to the group, did not break stride, and continued down the corridor as the troopers fell to their feet; this was like target practice.

They moved further into the belly of the ship, weapon ablaze, and facing a new Dark Trooper every angle around them. The monitors picked up every new frame of motion, quick to focus, as the fighting continued on; though, this was not much of fight, per say. The Jedi moved with a nimble, yet leisured pace that would have anyone fooled into thinking this was _easy_. Yet, underneath those coal black robes, the Jedi’s muscles were tensed with fervor, with the agility to move from one blaster strike, to another, and to another. While the body was rigid with exercise and tension, their mind was clear, calm. There was no room for error here, and they had been taught since a young age to keep composure, even in the worse of circumstances.

Another pitch-black trooper fell to the floor, a reverberation of new metal on old metal, vibrations bounced around in the giant space the storage-like room offered. Without hesitation, the lightsaber spun within their grasp, away from the striking hit of one bot, and off to their left. The bright, blue blade rejected a razor red bolt of plasma aimed for them, and sent it flying back to the blaster’s original owner. The trooper’s head ignited from the inside, sparking with flames of red and orange, cracking as hard metal does under pressure, and sending the nasty thing almost roaring and down to the floor. All the while, the Jedi’s face, while clocked from view of the trapped crew in the hull, showed collected and without hardships.

The hull only repeated what was happening within the halls, the noises of cracking alloys and a humming saber, all seemingly less dramatic within this room.

Shattering the homeostasis of the shared experience they were all having, the Moff sprang into action from his sprawled position in the floor. His face twisted into conquering resolution as the concealed blaster came into view, was aimed, and fired at Bo-Katan’s metaled body. Each bolt of plasma cause the warrior to jerk back from each rush of fire aimed her way.

When nothing affected her armor to his liking, though, Gideon twisted his whole body to point the blaster straight for the pile of green and burlap on the floor. He fired with conviction.

Din, though, was already set into motion. He sprinted, dove with arms outspread, just incase he didn’t fully make it to before the child, and landed hard on his side with a soft grunt, his shielded torso taking the bolts of energy instead.

Moff started with remission as his last attempt at freedom, control of the situation, or perhaps just to impale a string of revenge into Din himself – for all the trouble he had caused. Gideon wasn’t too sure himself right then and there.

Cara and Fennec directed the barrels of their weapons at the lone antagonist, as the former rebel ordered him with a stern voice to drop the blaster.

“ _Well_ ,” Moff Gideon mused to himself silently, “ _our empire has truly been lost._ ” And with that, he brought the blaster’s nozzle to beneath his chin, and, after a small moment of hesitation, pulled the trigger.

This was all in vain though. Cara smacked the blaster from Gideon’s still cuffed hands, sending the smear of red light up and into the ceiling, staining black. The Moff’s finale stand was over.

While the humans’ attentions were held poignantly on the concluding occurrence, even Din who had pulled himself up from the cold floor, assessing that the child was unharmed, Grogu’s notice converged solely back to the grey scale screen once more. The little alien offspring raised himself with an exertion of nulled effort that his small body still had left, climbing up a chair’s frame and finally to the panel’s surface.

His black orbs, like chunks of space without stars or distance planets, gapped widely as the Jedi continued their successfulness within the ship’s veins. A hand with three pronged fingers lifted and edged to pat the smooth surface of the warm display to his touch.

Mando, in bringing his mindfulness back to where exactly Grogu was in his vicinity, noticed this. He stepped over, inquisitive of how their visitor was doing somewhere out there, and was somewhat surprised to see the power this Jedi held. Of course, the only other Jedi he knew, Ahsoka, had been a great force against him and others, so this wasn’t at all too surprising; yet, a single Dark Trooper seemed to harness the strength of ten men at once. This Jedi took them all down, like cutting branches from trees.

A finale droid popped and fizzled internally from combustion, a blue saber sizzling deep through its core chest plate. The unknown Jedi pulled back, lightsaber still ignited, and entered into an elevator that closed briskly around the still shaded form.

The next group troopers, who once were trying to barge their way through the double doors, were aware and waiting as the elevator shaft parked onto the floor. They turned with a low level squeal of tension in their mechanical joints, and drew their blasters, eyeing the curved door.

The lift’s doors opened, if not even a fraction of what they could allow, and the Jedi sprang into assault on the droids. The force-user already knew what awaited them.

A barrage of red ribbons, hot and deadly plasma, shoot out from the first line of troopers that were close enough to try and make a mark on their new opponent. This was all opposed though, as flashes of blue, zipping around and swirling so fast it created the lightning shapes of circles and semi-ones, reflected every blast that came towards it. One droid dropped with a thud. Another trooper sparked and snapped, whining down, as the power connection was lost from the bolt of destruction from their own weapon – all such a cataclysmic breakdown of one of the Empire’s greatest weaponry.

The child was drawn only to the take down of the droids outside. Mando couldn’t help but consider both Grogu, beside him, and the Jedi on screen, back and forth with shifting eyes. This, he realized in that moment, _was it_. And, as if Grogu read his thoughts, the small one gazed up to the Mandalorian’s visor, black reflecting against black, connected to another, for perhaps a last moment in time.

With gloved hands, the Mandalorian reached out to gently hold and clutch the child to his chest armor, proceeding to walk them both over to a system’s panel on the opposite side of the hull.

“Open the doors,” Din huffed through his voice modulator.

“What are you _talking_ about,” Dune questioned with an edge to her words.

“ _Open_ the doors,” the male Mandalorian retorted, bringing Grogu to rest on a chair by his side. He hesitated at the panel’s multitude of buttons for a breath or two, considering the labels and bright color-coded assortment.

Din brought an extended finger out to hover and stop over the one that would break open the damaged sliding doors. This was it, the child’s _destiny_ , and whom Din was meant to bring him to; everything was converging here and now.

The Jedi nabbed one last trooper in the throat, slicing the darkened surface with a quick slice of their saber. The hallway to the diagonally cut doors had been cleared – that of able troopers at least.

Din hit the button, releasing the doors from their shut position. From a cloud of deep gray smoke, emerged the equally shaded figure; the only semblance of color was the saber, cutting sharply even through fumes. The Jedi entered with measured steps, one shoe before the other, breaking into the still open air of the hull’s environment.

A hushed moment stood between the lone crusader, their savior, and the seven lives that’d been trapped.

Din, swallowing much of nothing beneath his cloaked neck, spoke out first. The intentions were still not clear, as the slight hum of the lightsaber continued to vibrate through the mood. “Are you… a Jedi?”

The figure, half of whose face was laminated by the heavy fabric of their robes, turned their head to Din, then Grogu, still close by his father figure’s side. They nodded once, then twice, in response to him.

“I,” the Jedi pauses, shutting the blue blade down, but keeping it in grip as arms raised, and gloved fingers tucked beneath their hood, pulling the cloth back with a smooth gesture. The face revealed was that of a female human kind – smooth, pale skin contrasted the dim background of her attire and her ink-like hair, which was pinned back neatly and tight. Her expression was that of consideration, only really on the pair she had come here for, though. Feather like, pink lips were pursed in a way that made her jaw look tight, stone-like, except when she continued her sentence. “… am Sahara Orri. I received your call, young one.”


	2. We

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boldly go where no Mandalorian, Jedi, and baby alien have gone before....

The room stood in an air of silence as Sahara made her exclamation to them all. All eyes centered on her, the blue-saber wielding Jedi, standing tall and unwavering between the door’s openings.

Bo-Katan, who was privy to the Jedi and their long lost legacy, took a couple of steps closer. Her armor hid the look of realization that marked her slim mouth, now parted, and dominating eyes that went unblinking behind the shield.

Cara, as ever the good solider, still stood at the defense, her weapon close to her person. Her primary hand did not waver from the trigger. She was forever, and maybe always, on the side of safeguarding those around her.

Sahara noted everyone on the bridge, as the conversation stood at a stand still for a second too long, but was eventually brought back to her main person of focus. Everyone there seemed, not necessarily in shock, but more so casting an aura of bewilderment. Such a calm reaction could not be too boldly criticized, and the Jedi knew this. Her kind, her people, her creed was like a whisper in the night; a legend that was only being passed down, being more forgotten as the years passed.

It had been almost thirty years since the Empire had risen into their power, signifying with it, the death of the Jedi Order, as it had once been known. What once had been a powerful group of those who had tried to stand for what was supposed to be justice and peace, was now a secret, a stain on galactic history. Only for as long as someone even knew who you were talking about, though.

Sahara reached over to the utility belt on her hip, black, matching with most of the rest of her attire, securing her lightsaber hilt in place. The piece was reminiscent of how the woman had made it – with limited resources and in a quick manner. The hilt was a bit of a patch job, with a few kinds of alloys that held the kyber crystal beneath it all. The mismatch work of metals, melded together in their cylindrical form with only one entrance for the shaft itself, did not make for the most elegant looking lightsaber, but it possessed its own kind of personality. There was no need for it anymore, she knew for certain, as it was clipped in place.

She brought her striking and deep, blue gaze back to meet the male Mandalorian.

Mando had brought Grogu up to him, a hold that yelled protective. He questioned allowed, “You’ll take him?”

Sahara nodded bluntly. “Yes, of course,” she paused, view shifting over both their forms, almost melding into one another.

The Mandalorian held the child tightly to his platted chest, firm yet gentle enough for the small being. Their connection, she felt it, like a thin fabric flying through the air - it was tangible, flowing, and fleeting. Not only was this child powerful with the force, but also his whirling of emotions was like being pulled out of hyperspace too soon. It took the Jedi’s breath from her lungs for a brief instand, to experience the young creature’s attachment. How much of a burden could this be for Grogu? For Sahara’s own state, after searching for him, since she had felt his outcry, on the densely forested moon of Endor? Or what of the Mandalorian, who now held him as if he just couldn’t bear to let him go?

“He wants to... to stay with you,” Sahara sputtered out, a low ton barley ringing out loud enough for everyone to hear.

Grogu yearned out - vocally it was evident from his sweet little sounds, but through the force, it was close to being almost primal. It was the emotional ache of a child wanting his father.

Sahara pursued her lips in contemplation of this situation. Her motive for coming here was not to pick up two.

Din turned the child around in his arms, a blank beskar staring deeply into those planet-absorbing eyes, unblinking, both of them. “S-she’s who you belong with... she’s one of your kind.”

The force held so much power between organic and non-organic beings, strength, which one could describe as being electrifying in a way. The force was tangible between them both, and with how much these two needed one another.

Although Grogu had made his choice at the Seeing Stones, he’d never considered this step in it all. The swirl of confusion and bitter sadness was evident through both force sensitive beings’ touch.

And the Mandalorian, Sahara felt, there was something about him that was palpable through the force; a spark of power within his field. The Jedi just couldn’t say for sure, though.

Grogu grabbed, a needy small hand, up towards the cool touch of Din’s helmet. Through the power of the force, Sahara heard his thought at that very moment: _“Please… come, too.”_ She snapped her eyelids shut in a deep kind of agony; oh, to lose a father was just too much for one to handle, let alone for a child.

“ _Wait_ ,” Sahara’s voice jumped out of her mouth, louder than it was before. Mando raised his head a notch; eyes must have been meeting each other’s at this point.

“I… I,” she stuttered, sheltering her words, trying to sound structured instead of emotional. “Please, come with us… if you _want_.” A pause interrupted her continuation, lips pursing in slightly, only to puff out with more words. “I can’t, in good conscious, take him from you.”

The Mandalorian, even through the mask of zero expression, shiny reflection, still seemed to exude articulation of a face. His blank stare bore into Sahara’s own open and honest one. For a second time, the conversation was quiet again. Yet, the Jedi could feel the churning of feelings inside the metal man; his force was shifting from dark to light.

“… _Why_?” Din sputtered out finally. It was difficult for him to believe. His entire mission, for months and costing him so much of his former life as a fully-fledged Mandalorian, had accumulated to this – handing the little wamp rat over to whom he belonged to.

But if Din was fully truthful with himself, something he could really only do in moments of absolute solitude, he was not well prepared for this moment. When they had finally found the old order Jedi by the name of Ashoka, Din had sat with a resting Grogu for longer then he had anticipated on. Nothing was said between either one of them – not a word or a noise or a tiny babble from the little one – only the imprinting of his elongated, ember face and wide set ears into the forefront of Mando’s memory bank. He could never forget that face, not as long as air still ran through his lungs. Even when Ashoka found her own way to the Razor Crest, Din still hadn’t been ready to hand the child over fully. Even though it was the right thing to do, his duty, it felt like a lose.

But now, here this woman was, offering everything in the galaxy to him.

“I have no… _interest_ in separating a father from his child,” Sahara reciprocated. Their bond was one not to break.

Mando nodded deliberately, twice, towards her direction, then brought his visor down to gape at Grogu. His gloved fingers curled against the child’s sack-like wears. “Thank you,” he broke, finally, not even bothering to look back to Sahara. She would know it was for her; and know the woman did.

The expression across Sahara’s face lightened, a creep of a smile etching over her lips. She proceeded one step closer to the pair as she spoke, “I’ll wait for you both, in my ship. I suppose you know where I docked.” An arm motioned towards the others in the room. “I heard someone call me from this bridge.”

“That’d be me,” Bo-Katan spoke out, stepping forward from the group as she pulled her own helmet off her head. “Mind if I walk you down to the landing bay?”

“Of course,” the Jedi agreed friendly. She looked to the rest of the puzzle of people before her, even perplexed by the obvious looking Imperial officer on the floor, and gauged what to say next. “Will you be needing help,” she pointed a single finger, “with him?”

“Not on my watch,” the former Rebel inserted herself. “I’m a Marshal for the New Republic. I’ll be taking him back to Nevarro for processing.”

“Very well, Marshal. He’s in the right hands, then.”

Moff sighed from the floor.

“Please, take your time,” the dark-haired Jedi offered to her new pair of companions.

* * *

The Jedi and the Mandalorian, side by side, travled together in peace down to the landing dock. Once, these two would have not gotten along at all, and such a regular act of walking along side one another, would not have seemed like such a pivotal point of history for both of their people. Neither could forget about the history of the Mandalorian wars, when clone armies roamed from planet to planet, or how Mandalorian were once trained Imperials themselves. Then again, the Sith took on their own amount of root in the soil that was the former Empire. In all honesty, the force wielder did not mind the solace; it brought her great satisfaction. She was all too familiar with the split between their groups, even though she hadn’t lived through most of it, unlike Bo.

Once Sahara’s black coated ship was in sight, doors buzzing open to reveal an otherwise empty hanger, was finally when Bo-Katan chose to speak, “The child… and the Mandalorian… what do you plan to do with them?”

Dark brows furred together at this questioning. “I will train the child – as is the way of the force. I received his message for a reason. The Mandalorian is… _well_ , they are connected to one another.” Sahara stopped by the back door of her ship, an average ramp that was still open fully. “The Mandalorian is free to come with us. To do what he pleases.”

Bo-Katan, eyes seemingly always so driven and poignant at whatever or whomever she was after, did not break from the taller women before her. She half circled around the Jedi, and eyes darted for a brief moment up the ramp, trying to find anything in a second that would seem threatening, dangerous. “I understand.”

“You have your reservations.”

“Very inquisitive… per usual with the Jedi.”

Sahara cracked a tiny smile, nodding. As was with all beings that possessed the force, reading other’s emotions was natural and uninhibited. “You’ve known Jedi before me.”

“I have – _good ones_. One’s always loyal to their causes.”

“I am loyal to the will of the force,” Sahara specified. “I’m… alone.”

The Mandalorian female nodded shortly. Her mouth parted to speak again, but the doors swept open once more, reveling Mando and Grogu, tucked comfortably in his arms.

“Seems now you’ll have all the company you’ll need,” Bo remarked back.

Sahara could tell she was being sized up here, and, well, she really couldn’t blame her. Mandalorians were vastly loyal to their own people.

Din sauntered up to then women, reaching to his utility belt to pluck a black and cracked saber hilt from his hip, and holding it out towards Bo-Katan. “I still yield, you know.”

Bo’s face became agitated at the sight of this, in a way that was like a wax melting down a candle’s length, her features dropped. “I’ll find you again. _Count on it_.” With that, Bo-Katan shortly nodded to Sahara, shifted her weight to one leg, and briefly walked away, letting herself out of the hanger.

“ _Well_ ,” Sahara interrupted the awkward silence; “I’ve never seen a Mandalorian on another Mandalorian’s hit list.”

Mando sighed though his helmet’s modulator, making the low groan sound like static. “We’ll deal with it when she comes.”

“ _We?_ ” The women questioned in a tone that was slightly jovial. “She said nothing about ‘we’.” Her head shook from side to side, smiling, as she made her way up the ramp of the ship.

Din, in all his defeated glory, took a second, watched her back, and then followed suit.

* * *

The new little crew of the freighter walked into the cockpit in a single file. So far, the ship was orderly, clean, but there was more to it that Mando wasn’t privy too. It was more important they flew out of there anyways. The Jedi, back still to Din, took a seat in the main pilot’s chair, beginning to switch on the dashboard of buttons and monitors. The ship sprang to life, the low hum of electricity flowing in the air. Mando still stood, stationary, monitoring it all.

“You can take a seat you know,” Sahara offered, an empty co-pilot’s chair across from her.

“Where are we going?”

“Hm,” she mellowed, giving a sigh in thought. “I was near Endor before this, so the Outer Rim could be a good option… who knows if the Empire will be after him again.”

Mando paused, statue like. If only one could see his face, they would be able to tell by his features that he was in deep contemplation, with a splash of fear darkening already brown eyes. “I… have an idea.”

Sahara turned in her seat, “I like ideas.”

The Mandalorian crossed over to the empty chair, taking a seat, as he familiarized himself with the layout of controls before him. All the while, Grogu gurgled something sweet and low in Mando’s free arm, the lids of his eyes getting heavy.

“I know a planet in the Outer Rim, up and coming, last I heard.”

“But…”

“But I haven’t been in a while.”

“Alright,” Sahara conjectured, “we’ll take your lead.”

The face of the beskar helmet looked over at Sahara, stared, and then bobbed towards her.

* * *

The black freighter glided out of the bay, casting itself amongst the darkness of space, and the speckling of distance stars and planets. It was silent, at first, but stalled as the back blasters fired up, firing a hot blue and red color. The ship pulled back, like a slingshot, and the rocked into hyperspace, disappearing with a climactic crash into the fabric of space, and was gone.


	3. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do authors apologize for not updating in over a month?? Because I'm about to omg I'm very very sorry this has taken too long to update! Last time I got a chapter out, the spring semester for college hadn't started. But now I'm a senior juggling six classes and very busy with life and blah blah I guess. This chapter isn't as detailed as I would have liked it to be, but I really did want to update it! So yeah thank you for the wait, and idk when the next will be because I should not make promises. Enjoy :)

One part of space travel, that most could agree was hypnotic in a way, was how much it screamed out into the void of nothingness and everything, yet was soothing enough to listen to. In an odd, white noise kind of way, the echo of space was easy to the ears. Even in hyperspace, the tunnel of black and blue smearing all together like paint, streaks of white roared loader than the stationary cosmos. The visual aspect was just as hypnotizing. Space was a vast canvas of what anything could be and hold, and one could spend a lifetime only really discovering a small percentage of it all.

  
Sahara sat at attention, even while the freighter was still speeding through hyperspace, back straight, but eyes caught by the sight the bay window offered them. Although this tunnel of deep space express travel offered them a safe path to their destination - still unknown to her - she was forever ready for anything that could betray them.

  
From her right ear, the sound of a small coo broke her blue hues from the equally cobalt smear around the ship. It was a welcomed sound from the hum of the vesicle, and its many soft beeping mechanics, offered infrequently to alert of a well working machine. She found the small, green youngling, still curled sweetly in the Mandalorian’s arm, as he shifted Grogu to the other one altogether. The child tried to noise his dissatisfaction for being jostled, but all Mando did was look on and keep his other grip on the steering handle.  
“You could put him down to rest in one of the living quarters, if you’d like,” the woman offered. “He’s drained.”

  
The Mandalorian still only gazed down at his small companion, contemplating, waiting for his own response himself. Sahara sensed his indecisiveness. It was interesting how much the armor concealed. The face, especially on humans but other intelligent creatures as well, showed so much expression, even when one tried to not let much on. Were one might see a bounty hunter, intimidating and unwilling to respond to such an offer, Sahara allowed the force to freely flow, and give her the offerings of other’s energies. Mando was suspicious of these new surroundings, what was safe enough for Grogu, and even who she was entirely.

  
“Quarters are on the left hand side of the bay out there… first door is mine, but second - ” the Jedi returned her focus back to the busy scene of swirling simple colors, “ – the mouse droid wont even clean it anymore, there’s nothing left to tiddy up.”

  
Din picked his head up towards Sahara at this remark. “Mouse droid… on a freighter this size?”

“Sure, why not,” she smirked at this, considering the fact that it was a bit odd. Such droids were more notable for their dirt work on Imperial ships, but Sahara had gotten her hands on one at a market a couple years back, and she found it adorable. “I tacked a rag underneath the thing so it could sweep for me.”

  
“ _Clever_."

  
“I thought so.”

  
Mando’s view still held strong on the Jedi. He pondered how all of this would play out for them. The long run wasn’t necessarily his specialty, unless it came to catching a bounty. Life was day to day, mostly – until Grogu had come along. Since his little green friend, Din finally had a mission that was long term. As a bounty hunter, days turned into weeks, months, and suddenly he was a man, alone, and working any bounty he could just to keep fuel in the tanks and adrenaline running through his system.

  
Now, his mission was accomplished. Was this settling; how normal people went about their lives? Was this the kind of person he could be, though? Mandalorians were, like everyone with an emotional soul and a yearning, able to have a path in life that was domesticated. Din questioned if that was his way, even as his view wondered back down to the bundle of blissful sleep in his arms.

  
In a measured way, the Mand

alorian rose to his feet, helmet still leveled to Grogu, and, without much hurry but all the worry for the little one’s rest, made his way out the automatic doors and into the bay.  
Sahara watched, eyes never parting with the metal form, even as the doors snapped shut behind him. The Mandalorian’s emotions felt like a gust of wind.

  
Within the belly of the ship, the bay acted as a junction for the rest of the freighter’s rooms. The area was simple, square and showcased just how the whole ship was a single level only. Mando observed, with some apprehension, that the Jedi lacked any weapons on the walls. It certainly wasn’t how he had kept a ship. The walls were the average metal color – a deep gray that was obviously unpainted and plain. Before him, across from the pilot’s room where he now stood before, the back end of the ship’s floor dipped down slightly, at that moment leading down into the closed ramp door as they flew through hyperspace.

  
While Din did spot the two closed quarter doors on his left, to the right of the bay was a door set all on its own. He pondered the contents behind the metal obstruction with a blank stare from his blacked visor. Sahara hadn’t offered him a tour of her abode when they had come onboard. Both of their mindsets had been to hurry up and leave, instead of polite introductions.  
The Mandalorian was nothing, if not careful, though. He never was the type of person to put himself in harm’s way, and especially now, not with Grogu. So, even as he pondered putting the small alien down to sleep somewhere more comfortable, the door bothered a small part in the back of his mind.

  
His heavy boots thudded against the hull’s matching metallic floor as the Mandalorian made his way to the singular door. In his usual stoic fashion, he considered the panel on the wall for a couple breathes, before pressing the one that would open it with a single finger. The partition _whizzed_ passed his face, and although Din’s mask would not allow his expression to show to the room, his jaw dropped some, in an eye widening shock of what he saw.

  
The room was a simple mess hall, small, for the size that the freighter allowed. Just like the rest of the ship, it was metal, top to bottom, and shinned dully in the dim single light that was offered from the ceiling. It seemed like it would blow out soon, and need to be replaced. A corresponding round, metal table and matching, half circular booths sitting on each side, sat in the middle of the room. The pair of half booths offered some sort of comfort with dark leather bound cushions – the same that the pilots chairs seemed to offered he thought – but they were worn and frayed at the stitching. On his right, Din noticed another doorway, open this time, which looked like it led to the refresher, from what he saw from his unwavering stance.  
Besides all of this, the walls were covered with weapons. All kinds of weapons.

  
There were blasters of varying sizes and capabilities. Some blaster rifles that were colored black, silver, rusted and worn. Some had scopes for a more precise shot. Others looked like they were in need of repair, missing pieces like the barrels or hand-grips. Blaster pistols, long and short, DL-22s – all visibly functional or not so much scattered the walls too, hooked into place. The Mandalorian even thought he spotted some blasters here and there that looked Imperial, long out of use, but here anyways. Not only blasters – one section of wall held spears, staffs, and all different in length and design.

  
Much of the four walls were only storage space for this collection, an arsenal of some kind. If it weren’t for the obvious place to sit and replenish oneself, Din would have thought this space was designed for the purposes of weapon storage only. _But why_ , the man thought, _would she need all of this. She’s one person_.

  
“Get lost?” The tone came out faint and slightly mocking from beyond Din’s perspective of the room. His metal form spun around, in a way that was smooth and quick, as the words startled him. Like a reflex, highly trained and reinforced from years and years, Din’s free hand went to the blaster saddled tightly on his hip.

  
There was no need though, as his shielded eyes met, in almost equal height, the Jedi’s deep, and ocean-like blue ones.

  
Sahara stared at him with a calm contemplation, rooted to the ground only a step behind her new companion. She knew something had been amiss.  
The silence between them lingered for a breath.

  
The woman’s orbs darted down to the Mandalorian’s steady spot on his weapon. “Are you going to shot me, Mandalorian?”

  
Din blinked blankly behind his helmet, statue still. He considered what he was doing right now, which was much of nothing in the moment, yet he was thinking – that was the catch of it all. From the outside, he seemed like an indestructible machine, ready to take her down. On the inside, Din was questioning everything to himself. Perhaps trusting the first Jedi to come along wasn’t the best decision ever? And although he had been able to keep Grogu and himself alive and well for this long, that didn’t mean he wanted to start risk anything now.

  
His fist, tight and steady around the familiar coolness of his weapon, went back to the holster that was clipped to a worn belt, slipping it back into place.

  
The pair of dark clad humans remained fixed on one another, a close and heavy proximity with their presence together. Mando, a few inches taller, wider with his armor too, seemed to tower. In comparison, Sahara leaned in as close as she could without being too threatening, yet still making a point.

  
“That’s better,” she remarked with a slight pitch and pulling back a step. Sahara couldn’t help but let out a low sigh from her nose, air hot and revealing of some relief she was now feeling.  
Din, oddly enough, felt like he couldn’t get a decent read on her.

  
“What are you doing with all of this?” Mando questioned.

  
The woman cocked her head to one side, an expression of questioning herself crossing her gentle and pretty features. “As a Mandalorian,” she began, her arm outreaching to swing to both their sides and aim for the wall behind them. Sahara reached out with the force, fingers splayed out, and the door’s control button flashed its color and the sliding contraption closed.  
Din’s helmet rotated back at the sound of the whoosh and snap of the door, but eyes, though covered, were still locked on his new friend.

  
“… you should know the importance of a vast _arsenal_ of weaponry.”

  
Hushed, the Mandalorian contemplated her words. Of course, he agreed. Weapons were the religion of his people; his whole life really. All of that though, did not add up well to him.  
“That’s an impressive _arsenal_ for a Jedi.”

  
Sahara shrugged nonchalantly, her arms coming up to cross over her chest. “I have a feeling you don’t know much about my people, Mandalorian.”

  
Din fell silent once again, but instead of the soundless absence of nothing between them, Grogu gurgled something sweetly from the bend of his elbow. Both Sahara and Din looked immediately at the little one. His long head bobbled, eyes wrinkled more closed than they already were, as he shifted some.

  
“Seems like you should really get him to bed,” the woman noted, eyes shifting up to the beskar helmet once more.

  
Mando kept his view to Grogu for a moment, but soon nodded in response.

  
“Second door, like I said,” she began, pulling away from the moment to move cautiously backwards towards the pilot’s hull again. “Maybe you could find some rest, too.”

  
Metaled gaze rose back to meet Sahara’s, offering her a singular, noiseless nod to her words once more.

  
“We will talk in the morning,” the Jedi promised, before disappearing from behind the sliding doors.


End file.
